by Jeremy Marr
While turning left again to face the stairs leading up to the hatch and the world above, movement above Redlew Feiht’s head caught his attention. By this time, he knew what it was, but reflexes took over and he found himself squatting down, looking up at himself, who was squatting upside down and looking down. In the moment in between heartbeats, a door inside his head leading to his unease store room, which was usually locked tight, opened up and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The sight reminded him of being topside, walking on the stone to the hatch. From this squatting position, he looked down and saw himself upside-down, looking up. Nausea once again filled him from head to toe. It may have been from looking up and then down too quickly in succession, or possibly a reaction to the smoke his torch was making, but whatever the reason, the aftermath had him feeling as though he had drank too much rum on a blistering hot day.
In an instant, his vision blurred and his thoughts swirled around in his head faster then he could make sense of. Gravity lost hold on him and he felt as though he was floating down or falling up; somewhere between where he was and somewhere where he should not be. His mind was screaming at him, but he could not pay attention long enough to make out what it was yelling. Dread and hopelessness were the only emotions he did recognize, but the understanding of why was just out of his minds grasp. His brain broke away from that thought as he blinked.
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Redlew, in the present, refocused on the situation at hand. He could feel the to-the-bone coldness throughout his entire body, with the exception of his left lower arm from the elbow down. It would soon to be time. Redlew glanced at the man in the Northwest corner of the alleyway.
The man-for-hire was a first class cutthroat by the looks of him, if the bar for first class was not just lowered, but taken away all together. His ripped and tattered sandals would have provided little more protection for his feet then the skin encasing the foot itself. The lower halves of his legs were almost crossed as his step entered into perpetual motionlessness. A stray wind would be enough to push one leg into the other, tripping the man for sure. The tattered pants ended well above the man’s shins, but the looseness of the garment would have rubbed together, making a “swooshing” noise even the deafest of the elderly would be able to hear a half league away from the intended victim. No shirt covered the man’s torso, even though by all accounts something should have been, for the shear sake of everyone else’s eyes. Large rolls of cellulite were hanging off one another in all sorts of angles from his neck down to his over worked belt. An unshaven beard and long, dirt-crusted, greasy hair decorated his head like flies on a pile of horse dung, to put it politely. Lastly, his eyes were pointed on the dagger that hung suspended inches from his hand as he tossed it from one to the other.
“This one fancies him to be a blade handler,” Feiht thought. “Only to enter a fight without the blade in your hand is as smart as entering a horse race without being on a horse.”
He had to wonder why these people were here, in this alley, after being denied permission from the Thieves Guild. It was a well-known fact in Lefebvre that ignoring a denied permission petition comes with a Certification of Death just as quick as it would without having asked permission in the first place.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” a voice in the cold agreed.
Redlew then, realizing it was still not time to act, allowed his mind to wander back to his previous thoughts of his past.
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He was drowning in confusion, lying there on his stomach. Visions of places, objects, people, and colors were racing almost into focus before changing into something else right before recognition took hold. Then sweet, sweet darkness came and took him. Floating in the void, he was at finally at peace with his mind. He wanted nothing more then to stay where he was forever, deep within his very own alone time. That was until he heard the words, “I am Redlew Feiht - I am Redlew Feiht - I am Redlew Feiht,” echoing from somewhere.
The longer he listened, the stronger it became, but the location of it still eluded him. The way it was spoken seemed to suggest importance, but from within the depths of darkness it mattered not. It was an annoyance, an invasion of the calm nothingness. It, however, was not caring how rude it was.
“I am Redlew Feiht - I am Redlew Feiht - Redlew Feiht,” it repeated. What had started as a whisper was now a strong catcall, forcing its way into the center of the void that was now him and him alone. “Redlew - Redlew - Redlew Feiht - I am Redlew - Redlew - Redlew Feiht.”
He felt himself floating towards the source of the voice. He could not tell if he was moving up, down or to either side, but he felt sure that he was moving.
“It does have a catchy ring to it,” a voice whispered from his left.
“You should try it,” another echoed from his right.
The pull of his movement was increasing and he now felt like he was diving up a powerful waterfall that had been turned upside-down, or possibly side to side. He heard the voice from above him again. “I am Redlew - Redlew - Redlew Feiht - Redlew Feiht.” Then he heard within the void, towards his left, “No, I am Redlew Feiht.” Then from his right, “NO, NO, NO, I am Redlew Feiht.”
“This madness has to stop before it drives me insane,” he whispered.
From his right he heard, “You are insane.”
From his left, “I am Redlew Feiht.”
“Try it,” came from his right, only to be echoed from his left.
He was now very angry. His darkness was interrupted by madness. It had to stop and stop right now. He inhaled until his lungs felt like they were on the verge of rupturing.
“I am Redlew Feiht. I am Redlew Feiht. I am Redlew Feiht,” came again from where he still felt he was rushing. Laughter started on his right. No, it was from his left. The voices were circling him, taunting him with there chuckles.
“I AM REDLEW FEIHT!!” he finally screamed and through the vale between light and darkness he catapulted. He was sitting upright on a cold, stone floor. The darkness was gone, broken by the dwindling light casting itself off the almost extinguished torch on the floor to his right. A fine gray smoke hung in the air from the burning pitch. His feet were wide apart, straight legs sticking out at angles to either side of him. Through blurred vision, his mind was struggling to regain some hold on his present state of affairs. He could recall neither where he was, nor why he was there.
“The insane one wakes,” rang out of the haze in front of him.
His eyes rose from the floor and leveled out, focusing on a shadowy figure sitting on the ground not far from him.
“I am not insane,” he whispered in a coarse voice, “I am Redlew Feiht.”
“I am Redlew Feiht,” he heard echoing to his right, “You MUST be crazy.”
He mustered the strength to turn his head and another figure on the ground entered into his fuzzy vision. “It is worse then we all thought,” this one said.
“Yes,” called out his companion. “Very bad indeed to believe you are who you are not.”
Movement, caught from the corner of his eye, brought his neck back in line with his chest. The once sitting person was now standing with his hands on his hips. Concealing shadows danced and flickered around him.
“I am Redlew - Redlew - Redlew Feiht,” the standing person sang. It was the same intrusion he heard from within the peaceful darkness that had been void of soreness and confusion. The spark of anger started to feed off his pain and mental anguish. Rage, spun off the excess anger, started to collect and pool within him. Every muscle in his body was aching and his head felt ready to explode. These two half-wits could not even see he just wanted silence to gather himself back together? A task, it seemed, impossible to do with all this chatter.
“Get away from me,” he growled through clenched teeth.
“You’ve gone and made him mad,” the standing figure said while shaking his head, “mad, mad, a
nd mad.”
“He was already mad,” the other said defensively.
Dumb to anything but the liquid fire of fury coursing through his veins, he clenched his hands into fists and screamed, “I WANT YOU TO LEAVE ME BE RIGHT NOW. I AM REDLEW FEIHT AND JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!”
“Prove it,” he heard, whispered from his left. He turned his head and the figure was there, standing one-step down from him. “Prove it,” the figure whispered again.
Vengeance was going to be his. He wanted nothing more then to feel this mans throat between his own clenched hands. “Prove it?” he asked himself, “Oh, yes, I will.” He did not remember having stood up as he took his first step towards the left… towards the stair… towards vengeance. Two paces brought him to the step, which he took without hesitation. The man was no longer in front of him, but he could hear his words echoing from below, taunting him still.
“Prove it. Prove it. Prove it.”
He was not going to get away, not that easily. Redlew took another step and then another. Soon he was taking steps two at a time, all the while hearing the acid echo ringing from further down the steps. The stairs started to curve to the left. He lost count of how many steps he had taken, but the more he took, the more there were in front of him and the tighter of a circle they formed. The voice seemed to be getting louder. Was he gaining ground on the hunt?
“He will be mine,” he chuckled madly. “All mine.”
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Redlew Feiht smoothly pulled his thoughts back again to him in the present. The man on his right had advanced only slightly as a sliver of time had progressed. The thug’s back right knee was now bent just enough to have lifted that foot inches above the ground. His upper body was angled more forward with the suspended thrust the foot caused upon take off. Although the man’s left arm had not moved, his right had risen a few degrees and the swords slight angle had not been corrected, neither had the man’s gaze on the ground.
“Can’t cut what you don’t see,” he thought.
“Can’t see what you don’t look at,” the voice echoed back in his head.
He gazed to his left where the commander for these thugs stood statue like. He was near the middle of the ally, ten paces away, with his feet planted square to his shoulders. His knees were slightly bent but his back was straight as an arrow. Rock hard chest muscles were threatening to bust open the sleeveless, v-necked leather vest he was wearing, while the extra few pounds around his middle seemed to be having that same thought of breaking out of confinement.
“Loosing himself in the easy life,” Redlew Feiht thought. “Should have gone back to doing an honest days work.”
Thick rippled shoulders were spilling out of his vest. This would have looked impressive even had they not been attached to upper arms the size of bull legs, and just as hairy.
Powerful forearms and wrists held a large, thick sword in a straight vertical line with his body. Looking past the suspended droplets of spit from his death threat, he saw the tough guy’s eyes locked on him.
“A professional through and through,” Feiht said to himself. “Too bad he did not pay heed to the Guild Leaders orders to have this section of the city left free of theft. If he were as smart as he was strong, he could have proven a nice addition to the guild.”
From within the left part of his head, another voice added, “Cross the Leader once, you will cross not another man again.”
His thoughts once again migrated to the past.
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The endless stairwell finally stopped at an archway into which he flew through at a dead run. A stone bridge opened up before him. Ten paces wide, he guessed, and at least one hundred long. He did not break stride as he started across with his eyes fixed on the stone landing on the far side. When he reached the opposite end, he stopped dead in his tracks and looked around. The landing ended at a solid wall of stone with what looked like a door etched into the face of the rock itself. There neither were knobs of any kind, nor were there any hinges to be seen. It looked as though the maker had run out of time, or died, before being able to finish the work that would produce a useable door.
He turned to make sure no other path lay off the other side that the sneaky lunatic may have taken to try to give him the slip. Gazing across from this way, looking back, the bridge looked much longer than he originally remembered crossing. His eyes could barely see the other side and could see no other paths or stairs leading away from the one he ran down and the bridge he just ran straight across. He looked over the edge of the landing and saw only blackness below. He turned back to the etched wall and realized how winded from his flight he had become.
Breathing heavy, he raised his arms above his head to try to stop a cramp from engulfing his entire torso, but the pain from his movements quickly changed his mind. He bent down and put his hands on his knees with his head between his legs. He shut his eyes and continued his labored breathing.
“Stupid, foolish man,” he heard between breathes. “Time is slipping away and you waist it by doing nothing?” The voice sounded like it was getting angry. “You can rest AFTER you finish your chores, little boy. You can’t catch what you don’t run for.” The voice echoed from the other side of the etched stoned wall.
His cooling anger flared up as though a bonfire had been lit within him. The pain from his cramp vanished as though having been burnt to ash. The fire of need flowed through his veins; the need for vengeance rekindled. He opened his eyes and started to lift his head. On the ground, just before the wall, he saw five small holes forming a circle.
“Kill, kill, kill” ricocheted in his head loudly. “Redlew Feiht DEMANDS it,” he heard echo inside his head as he stuffed his fingers and thumb into the holes. He could not recall how he knew what to do with the indentations, but the result was the desired one. He heard a click and the door swung inward, exposing a small tunnel beyond. Just as tall as he was, and a hands width wider than his shoulders, the stone was the same here as everywhere else had been, smooth and almost polished looking. Dull, gray light unexplainably radiated from somewhere here as well, as though the very rock shone but cast no light. Movement brought his attention from the stone to not even twenty paces down the corridor ahead of him, where he saw the man he had been chasing. The way his hands were on his knees, he must have been taking this time to catch his breath as well.
“I am Redlew Feiht,” the center of his anger called out again, and with a laugh, he was gone, disappearing from sight the very moment his hunter sprang forward to resume the hunt.
“Not going to get away again,” he thought. Chasing this figure was what he was born to do, he thought, as he poured all his speed into his steps. Visions of his hands around the man’s neck were circling through his mind, not leaving much room to think about anything else. He flew like the mythological Wind Wolf and thought himself to be just as dangerous. Faster, faster, faster he went, grinning the entire time as sweet vengeance played out in his mind repeatedly. The passage rounded a bend and he saw too late that it ended there in a large, multi-sided room.
Before the thought of how to stop fully came into focus, he saw his prey. He was in the center of the room, behind a white, polished stand or pedestal that had been chiseled into the shape of an hourglass. The man was running towards him, trying to escape the dead-end room he now found himself in, obvious, Feiht though. Now the man was trapped.
“Vengeance,” Redlew thought again, as he pushed all intentions of stopping from his mind, “it is finally time.”
He grinned while spreading his arms to pounce on the figure. As he did, he realized the other man did so as well. He laughed wildly at this, though he did not know why. With full speed, he swept forward as fast as his small frame would propel him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SOMETHING OLD – SOMETHING NEW